Throw Me A Line 

There used to be a place called Jack’s, just west down Central Boulevard from the University towards downtown, which was one of the last bastions of true alcoholism in this land of political correctness. Where you could walk in at the crack of noon and order up a glass of whiskey and get a complementary short pull of beer to back it up. Hell, you could do the same thing at seven a.m. if you wanted or needed it; and if you did, you wouldn’t be by yourself. Jack’s was a place where you never had to drink…

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The Rustic Side 

I would imagine that if you live in or come from a metropolis or any town or village with a thousand-plus population, you may not be familiar with the rustic side. I would wager that if you are rushing off to work in the morning in a suit and tie or business skirt and heels, that you aren’t familiar with the pristine air that fills your lungs as you are walking outside your front door at 8,000 feet with the clouds swirling around your head, like fog rolling in off of the ocean. The scent of pinõn and…

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From West To East 

It seems I’m always moving East, against all odds, jetting like moth to flame into the rising sun, to then migrate West; this has been a reoccurring theme. Back to the land of my birth, this reentry. The first trek I recall was from my beloved wild west: the bad lands of New Mexico to the deep antebellum South, the heart, the heart of Dixie. While I spent those formative years in the Dismal Gardens, the eighth wonder of the world, I began to feel the need for retreat, feeling choked by a subtly…

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